


He Is

by nightfangfox



Category: Redwall Series - Brian Jacques
Genre: Oneshot, Slavery, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 13:46:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6009019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightfangfox/pseuds/nightfangfox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He is the one who captures you. He is not the one who lets you go. You don't want to be let go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Is

You first see him in the charge of pirates and corsairs rushing your village, burning down your homes and fields and cutting down your friends and family. He is just one of the mob, nobeast particularly important. He is the one who grabbed your tail and pinned you to the ground. He is the one who bound your paws and hauled you back to the ship. You are forced to stand just behind him and a little to the left, like everyone else.

 

He is not the one who lashes you to the oars, nor is he the one who lashes you with the whip when you pull too slow. He is not the one who beats the drums that you pace your rowing to. He is the one who brings you food, along with the rest of the slaves. He is the one who recognizes you, and you remember standing just behind him and a little to the left, where you had to be.

 

He is the one who kills the captain. He is the one who leads the dissenters to a land with warm sand and cold streams. He is the one who takes you and the other oar slaves and sets you to building a fortress. He is the one who pulls you aside, you who he had personally captured, and made you to be a servant. He has you stand just behind him and a little to the left, still and silent.

 

He is the one who takes the first bite at the feast when the fortress is finished. He is the one who shares a piece of roasted fish with you, the most delicious thing you’ve had in seasons. He is the one who lets you leave to his quarters early when the former crew, now a drunken rabble, starts to get too loud and rough. The next morning, he is hungover, and you tend to him. It is not until late afternoon that he leaves his room, and you follow just behind him and a little to the left, where you are supposed to be.

 

He is the one who puts down the growing rebellion with a ruthlessness you knew he had, but are grateful to have never been on the receiving end of. He is the one who has nearly half the slaves, including some of your former friends, executed in front of everyone. When you cry, he is the one to hit your ears and drag you back to his quarters, where he is the one who destroys the desk and orders you to remove the remains. He is the one to slowly apologise in a low voice late at night after a bottle of wine. The next day is business as usual with you just behind him and a little to the left, where you fear you have become comfortable.

 

He is the one to first greet the new slaves when they arrive. He is the one to threaten them into silence and send them away to work. He is the one who stands on the walls and watches them in the fields when there is nothing better to do, and you watch too. He is the one to comfort you when you wince, remembering the whip at your back at the cracking sounds down below. He is the one who gets bored and wanders off to find something else to do, and you follow just behind him and a little to the left, where you are grateful to be.

 

He is not the first to encounter the beasts from outside, demanding that their kin be returned to them. He is the one who pulls his followers together to keep out the woodlanders, and he is the one to order all outsiders killed on sight. He is the one who rants to you about how incompetent his followers are, and how he wishes that they would all follow orders as easily as you, and you can’t help but glow at the praise. He is the one who addresses the outsiders’ leaders from the walltops, and you are there too, just behind him and a little to the left, where you belong.

 

He is the last to die at the paws of the opposition. He is not the one to take you and the slaves to a fire-warmed building built of sandstone. He is not the one to attempt comforting you when you try to separate yourself from the others. He is not the one who takes personal interest in your well-being, and he is not the one who takes you for walks in the orchard. He is not the one who makes sure you are well fed, he is not the one who asks if you are sleeping well, and he is not the one who blushes and stutters whenever you are around.

  
When you think of home, you think of him, and imagine you are just behind him and a little to the left, right where you want to be.

**Author's Note:**

> Please feel free to comment with criticism, shaming, or congratulations. If you can fit all three into one comment, I will be very impressed.


End file.
